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Even though I live only 20 minutes from the Gunks, I still live for weekends. Yes, I’m close enough that I can often get out for a climb or two after work when the days start getting longer. But the weekend days are a still sacred.

Climbing after work involves rushing home to change and grab some food and my gear. Then rushing to the crag, speed hiking into the climbing area, and usually only getting to the Uberfall to run up some top-ropes to fit in as much climbing as possible before dark. Rush, rush, rush. Multipitch climbs, climbs at the end of the cliff, all waste precious time on belaying and scouting instead of doing what you came to do: climb.

On the weekends, none of that matters though, when time is more “easy come, easy go.” For instance, yesterday while climbing, my partner and I ‘wasted’ at least two hours hiking down to the end of the Trapps and then trashing around in the brush looking for the start of a climb. On a weeknight, this might have meant that no actual climbing got done. On a weekend though, we simply shared a laugh over our little misadventure. And as it turns out, that misadventure, even though it didn’t result in any actual climbing, gave me the biggest lesson of the weekend.

At one point as we were thrashing around in the woods, I apologized to my partner. The route had been my suggestion and I felt as the ‘local’ it was my duty to lead him to it. Since he drives 2+ hours one way to come climbing in the Gunks, I felt terrible for wasting his time and his climbing day. Luckily my climbing partner is a pretty mellow fellow and his reply changed the tone of the rest of the day for me: “It beats a day at work.”

Until that point, I had been quitely stressing about the number of people at the cliff and how best to avoid them to get as much climbing time in as possible. I also still had last weekend’s unfortunate tradegy rolling around in the back of my head, causing me to second guess myself in all safety matters, even though every anchor I built yesterday could hold a truck off the ground.

But his nonchalant reply was a turning point. It reminded me to relax, to enjoy the simple fact that I was outside, in the sun and the fresh air and not in a stuffy office growing pasty under flourescent lights. (Don’t get me wrong, I am very fortunate to have work that I am very good at and that I find very rewarding, but in every job there is a little bit of tedium and stress- that’s what makes it work!) It also reminded me how lucky I am to get to climb and to live so near climbing. In a world where so many people struggle just to survive a day, we truly are privleged to get to spend our free time and disposable income engaged in an activity that makes survival a sport. So even though we didn’t do anything hard or particularly challenging and even though I didn’t rack up a big mental success like pulling off a hard lead, onsight, etc., it was a perfectly fulfilling day because I learned to slow down and enjoy just being able to spend my weekend climbing. And the dirt under my fingernails this morning is my little reminder of that lesson as I head for another day at work.

The local ski season ended way too early this winter. Ditto for the local ice climbing season. The Catskill resorts were able to eek out the crumby snow conditions only until March 25 before they gave up in utter desperation. The ice climbing season had ended about 3 weeks prior to that. You might be able to ski slush, but you certainly can’t climb it.

If you were a local skier/climber, it was a pretty disappointing season, but the blow was softened by an early jump on the spring rock climbing season. When we hit 80 degree temps in March, most of us were pretty psyched to put the layers of fleece away and grab some shorts and a rock rack and head to the Gunks. The bonus was that since it was still March, most of the crowds were kept away by things like school and spring break plans that may or may not have involved chasing the snow out west.

I know that I for one, made the transition pretty quickly. As did DH. Since he’s a guide, that’s kind of job requirement though. Usually I have a harder time letting a season go. In the past, this has pretty much applied to rock season. I get some good momentum in the spring, then the rain comes, then mid-summer’s humidity and by fall, I’m trying to squeeze in a season’s worth of climbing goals before the winter comes. I never quite seem to regain the same momentum I had in the spring though and instead of heading into the winter stronger, wiser and having learned something from that season of climbing, I seem to just spend the fall chancing the last bit of good climbing weather and resigning myself to the coming of winter. I do climb ice in the winter, but I’m not very good at it and spending the day freezing my butt off in some godforsaken canyon where the sun don’t shine goes against my strong hibernation instinct. I manage to get my act together and get out ice climbing maybe half a dozen times in a winter. In a really good year. So for me, ice climbing season, is generally not the season where I make strides in terms of learning and applying what I am learning.

This was part of my rationale for taking up skiing. It was a winter sport that looked really fun. I felt motivated to do it. And best of all, I can go to the resort myself, no need to troll the interwebs for a semi-reliable, but probably sketchy, ice climbing partner. And boy did I fall in love with skiing this year! I know it was a terrible winter to get into a sport like skiing, but I think learning in crappy conditions is going to make me a better skier in the end. For instance, my last ski this year, St. Patrick’s Day, the snow was so slushy, I decided to tackle my first black diamond trail, knowing that there wouldn’t be any icy patches and that I’d be able to control my speed better in the sticky snow. Having crossed that mental hurdle, I’m hoping it will be easier for me to tackle some black diamonds next year. But how to hold on to that lesson until next year? Ski season seems so far away right now…

Shortly after St. Patty’s Day, the temps turned summer-like and it was time to put the storage wax on the skis and get out the rock rack. I’ve been getting out a lot so far. And I’ve been applying some of the things I learned from skiing to climbing. For instance, I’ve been trying advance my lead grade, but I have a mental block at a certain level of difficulty. Much like skiing a black diamond on a slushy-slow-snow day to get over the mental fear of a scary ‘black diamond,’ I’ve been pink-pointing a couple of harder routes. (For anyone not familiar, this involves leading the route, but clipping into pre-placed protection instead of placing it yourself.) Since half the stress of leading harder routes is finding comfortable stances in order to place gear, dealing with just the other half of the equation- pulling harder moves above the gear where there is a greater fall potential- is a lot easier to tackle then taking on both problems at once. Hopefully, both exercises will let me break the mental barrier of tackling a certain level of difficulty and simply focus on the climbing/skiing in future encounters with this difficulty level.

Unfortunately, ski season ended too earlier for me to know for sure how well this strategy will work out for me, but since its only April, with any luck there’s plenty of time left in this climbing season to see how this strategy will work when applied to climbing. The luck in this is whether or not the weather will be cooperative in this. We’re supposed to get a nor-easter this weekend- all rain of course. For the most part I’m looking forward to an opportunity to spend a lazy weekend at home, cozy inside. My right ring finger is certainly starting to send a message that its tired and in need of a rest. But a little part of me fears that this rain event might be the start of a long rainy period and just like the precocious end of the ski season, that I might not get to realize the fruits of my labors. While it can be frustrating at times, I think its a good conundrum to have: how to learn control of fear and control of one’s self, in the face of something as impossible to control as the weather.

I love Christmas. I suppose its because I have a lot of great memories from when I was a kid. But I dislike New Year’s. This year, I down-right despised it. In fairness, this may have had more to do with the fact that instead of skiing or climbing over the holiday, my husband and I moved our entire apartment. I hate moving. I always end up infuriated with myself for having too much stuff. Maybe that will be another blog post.

But I digress. Why do I hate New Year’s? Because if making a change or a shift in your life is so important, why wait to do it? Start now, whatever day that happens to be. A few days after bemoaning this point on my Facebook page, Kelly Cordes made the same point, except his was way cooler because you just can’t top a mullet.

Case in point. Between the holidays and not having a serviceable stove for about week, my previously squeaky clean diet has gotten a little out of hand. I actually patronized a fast food restaurant today. Eww. How did it get that bad? I gave myself license to wait till January 1. With the deadline fast approaching, I often found my brain saying, “hurry up and eat this piece of crap before you go back on your diet.” And now here it is January 4. I’m carrying around 5 extra pounds and I’m cranky & irritable. That’s classic addiction, folks. All because I got suckered into the “New Year’s Resolution” B.S.

So I resolved not to resolve. The definition of resolve is “tocometoadefiniteorearnestdecisionabout.”A definite decision about. The very word implies a permanence, a lack of backsliding. The problem with this of course, is that when we “resolve” to do something, and then fail to adhere to said resolution, our human nature is to just give the whole thing up. How many people do you know who resolve to go on a diet January 1, slip and eat one donut and instantly go back to their old ways of eating? Exactly.

Of course, this has a lot to do with how we go about resolutions in the first place. The majority of the time we resolve to not do something. No more smoking. No more fridge raids in the middle of the night. No more carbs. I think anyone who understands human nature would agree that we are more likely to follow through on positive goals we set instead of resolving to no longer engage in negative behaviors and habits we would like to change.

So I’ve been toying with the idea of “setting goals” instead of “new year’s resolutions”- maintaining focus instead on fun things I want to accomplish that will add to my overall quality of life. I know the timing is rather auspicious, after all its only 4 days into the new year and this all sounds a lot like these pesky resolutions I keep railing against. But with the move to the new apartment, it reminded of this article I recently read on npr.org. I encourage you to read the whole thing, but the long & short of it is that Vietnam soldiers who stayed in Vietnam while they dried out from their heroin addiction did better staying cleaning stateside then vets who came home to get clean. Why? Environment. Many of our habits are subconsciously tied to environmental cues. You have a better chance of changing the behavior if you also change the environment/routine surrounding them. New apartment = new routine, so why not be intentional about creating a routine and environment that really works for me?

The deal was sealed though after reading this inspirational article from Erica Lineberry over at Cragmama. Just a humble list of her goals for the 2011 season with an intimate report on whether or not she achieve them this season. What I loved most about her list was her response to the goals she didn’t achieve this season: “no biggie.” That’s the beauty of positive goals: even if you don’t achieve them, you’re still better off for having tried. Whereas if you resolve to stop doing something, and then you fail and do it again, where has that left you? Feeling like a failure. No beuno.

“Don’t spend money on gear, spend money on plane tickets.” solo expedition kayaker (and grandmother) Audrey Sutherland, who has paddled more than 8,000 miles around the world.

It’s November and there is a cold drizzle falling outside. Despite my pleading entreaties to the weather gods, rock climbing seems to be officially over here in the Northeast. With rock season over, its time to box up my cams and send them to Black Diamond to be reslung. The original nylon slings seem to be in good shape, but at the ripe old age of 8 years, the prudent thing to do would be to have them replaced, fresh and ready to go for next year’s rock season.

Or perhaps, I’ll wait just a little while longer. There might be one more warm day hiding in the forecast and I don’t want to miss it if half of my rack is in SLC. Then again, if I had new cams, the newer lighter C4s, it wouldn’t matter. And with that, my inner gear whore starts the wheels turning.

Despite my determination to not let the season end just yet, a new season means a new sport. And a new sport means what else- new gear! I’ve been really looking forward to trying my hand at some backcountry skiing this winter. The one unfortunate thing about this is that a backcountry rig ain’t cheap and its hard to find that gear used, at least it is in this neck of the woods. I can rent backcountry gear up in the Daks or New Hampshire, but not locally, so it would be terribly inconvenient if I wanted to go run up the back side of Hunter in the Catskills one afternoon. Having your own gear can be very important sometimes because it just might mean the difference between doing something you love outdoors and staying at home. And as expensive as skis are, few people are blessed to have a spare rig just laying around to lend to a friend.

And there’s ice climbing. I do own ice tools, crampons and boots. My boots are a pair of Scarpa Freney’s that picked up several years ago for $100 on Sierra Trading Post. Apparently, there are very few men on the planet with a size 5 foot, or whatever the men’s equivalent of a women’s size 7 shoe may be. Because they are men’s shoes, they have a pretty funny shape. In terms of length, they are short, but since they are built on a men’s last they are wider then a women’s shoes. They look like moon boots. For a child.

They’ve gotten me this far. And considering I average less then 10 days of ice climbing a year (OK, let’s be honest, more like, less then 5 days), there is really no need for a new boot when those work perfectly well. But oh, the La Sportiva Women’s Nepal Evo GTX! How beautiful they are! I look at their thin, dainty profile in sharp contrast to my bulky moon boots and wonder if my footwork on the ice would be improved by the narrower, more streamlined boot. Perhaps, if I had better footwork, I would climb better, enjoy climbing more, therefore I would go climbing more and this is how the logic goes to justify the need to buy boots that I don’t need. Same for tools. I climb now on a hand-me-down pair of Quarks, wrapped to the hilt in grip tape by my DH, the Guide. These are perfectly serviceable for my limited forays each winter, but when I look at the new Black Diamond Fusion tools- Father, forgive me for I have sinned. I’ve had impure thoughts about purchasing those tools.

It’s in these moments that Audrey Sutherland’s words haunt my thoughts, like my own damn Jimney Cricket. I go to work everyday, getting more and more pasty as I languish under the fluorescent lights. I make money then spend it on gear & toys I’ll rarely get to use because I have to go to said job to keep making the moola. Or I could stop the insanity, learn to be content with gear & toys I do have and then spend money on plane tickets.

If only it were that simple. Plane tickets, in addition to their upfront costs also require time away from work. No work, no pay. The hidden cost of the trip is the lost revenue. In this way, the gear is cheaper. And then let’s not forget the added bonus of it sitting on the floor next to the door, silently mocking me each time I run out said door, late for work again.

It’s a fine line between having the right gear that let’s you get out more and helps you enjoy the experience more when you do get out, and overdoing it on having the latest & greatest simply because it is the latest & greatest. Where that line is, I believe, is different for different people. DH, the Guide, for instance, has more of need for those shiny new, light-weight C4s then I do. So each season, I work on vanquishing that inner gear whore and instead focus on getting out and enjoying the sport itself with Audrey Sutherland on my shoulder of course.

Every gear retailer has a blog now. Every sponsored athlete seems to have one too. And then there are the obsessed masses who must write about climbing between once a month climbing outings in order to keep the adrenaline rush going. Junkies.

I suppose the sheer fact that I am sitting in front of a computer, writing this on a Monday morning while I’m supposed to be doing my 9-5 puts me squarely in that third category.

So why put more Monday-morning-my-weekend-was-so-awesome-wish-I-was-still-climbing-and-not-at-this-lousy-job drivel out in the blogosphere?

Because if you’re reading this, you are probably one of us. One of the weekend warriors that lives for Friday afternoons when you can throw all of your gear in the back of the car and VAMMOOSE!

Because if you’re reading this, you need this. You need it like a smack fiend needs their next hit. You went climbing this weekend and got to experience that delicious Eden where you lived like you once were- exhilarated and free, in nature. You got home Sunday night with a big grin on your face, at peace. Then you woke up this morning and went to work, crashing back to the reality of responsibilities like bills, jobs & kids.

Because, especially if you are a woman and a climber, you probably struggle mercilessly with fear and self-doubt. Not that these struggles are unique to either women or climbers in general. Rather, that women climbers seem to have a unique dichotomy of experiencing climbing as both incredibly self-affirming and incredibly self-effacing. Sometimes at the same time.

My husband, a professional rock climbing guide, called me this morning from Red Rocks. There were several parties ahead of him & his partner on the route they did yesterday, so he spent a lot of time hanging out at the belays with the second from the party ahead of them. He described her as a cute, tall, blonde chick who was a strong climber. He learned that she use to lead 5.11 trad climbs. When asked why she wasn’t swinging leads on this 5.8 climb with her partner, she told him that she stopped leading after she started climbing with a group of women who climbed even harder then her.

This apparently led to a punctuated conversation at each subsequent belay about what it is about women climbers and how they can feel so threatened by other women climbers. Or, more exactly, why we are so quick to compare ourselves to other women climbers and deem ourselves unworthy. How that feeling plays that out is unique to each woman. Some, like this woman, choose to give up something. Others find excuses to mean or harsh to these women, trying to bring them down to their own level.

Earlier in the week, I was climbing with a friend who had pretty much given up on climbing this summer. She had a litany of legitimate sounding reasons- a pretty serious fall earlier this season, scheduling conflicts with preferred partners etc., but if you stripped away all the “fluff” at the heart of it, she doubted herself and her climbing abilities. So she avoided the issue by not climbing at all.

I suspect there is more then three of us out there (for those having trouble with the math, I’m including myself in the total count) that experience this place. This place of desperate passion for the sport of climbing that drives us so hard to achieve and yet, the failure to achieve will cause us to give up way too easily.

For those of you who have ever experienced this place, or who feel like you live in this zip code, welcome. I hope this blog can be a refuge for those struggling to find again the joy of climbing when you feel like you’re ready to give up on climbing altogether.